Page 57 of Noble Charms

Aria gripped the edge of the table and swung a wide-eyed look to Romy. “Back me up. You're a spellcaster, too. Tell him.”

Romy smiled without her teeth. “He's got a point, I think.”

“What?” Aria gasped. Traitor! She knew of his unique, innate skill. Surely she would recognize he’d beat Morgan in a head-to-head.

Romy burst into a laugh and waved her hand. “I'm sorry, beautiful boy. But I know for a fact that my spellcasting cannot stop a knife if it's thrown across a room.”

Aria straightened in his seat and said, before he could stop himself, “Mine can.”

Morgan groaned. “You cannot stop a knife.”

Aria's fingers tightened to white against the table. “I can. I swear it.”

Morgan produced a knife so suddenly, so smoothly, that it could have been spellwork itself. More likely, he'd had it up his sleeve as most trained guardsmen would. “You believe you could stop this. If someone threw this at Noble, to kill him and change the line of succession for the throne⁠—”

“Hey,” Noble huffed, arms crossed at his end of the table.

“You believe you could save him.”

Aria exhaled and said, “I am certain of it.”

“Then we should try.”

Noble said, “Hey,” again, but this time with a sense of trepidation.

Morgan shot him an unimpressed look and pointed to the wood post at the far end of the dining room. “If you can stop this knife before it strikes that beam, then I'll concede that some magic—some, not all—is as powerful as weapon-work.”

Aria raised his hands, cracked his knuckles, and said. “Agreed.”

But Morgan wasn't going to give him the chance to prepare, and as soon as the word left his mouth, the knife struck through the air.

Aria’s magic came to him without reciting a spell, without music from his voice or lute. He found it from all around him, flowing from the air, from the world, into his veins. He released the spell: Timestop. A spell that paused the movements inside a radius the caster chose.

Five feet from around the post—nothing moved. Including the knife, which had stopped against the wood. All four dinner guests rushed from the table, approaching the knife to examine its proximity.

“Wow,” said Noble. “You did it. I didn’t know you could cast so quickly—and without music. What manner of bard are you?”

Aria’s stomach dropped, then did a loop, and he felt his face go flush. This had been a mistake—he shouldn’t’ve demonstrated his skill. Fortunately, Romy saved him from having to explain.

“Aria is a very special elf, as I’m sure you know,” said Romy. “His gift with magic is unlike any I’ve seen. Elys truly has blessed him.”

Morgan crossed his arms, crouching to view the knife at eye level. “I must give it to you; this is fine work.”

Aria’s stomach unknotted and he gave Morgan the slightest bow of his head. “See?”

And Romy, ever a traitor, said, “But Aria lost.” When Aria jolted, she said, “You did. Look.”

Morgan nodded, finger upon the post, above the knife. “The tip is touching the post. You weren't fast enough. No spell would be.”

Aria said, “Oh, come now—it's barely touching it at all. Noble would be unharmed.”

“If that had touched me, I'd scarcely have a knick,” Noble agreed. “I've had worse wounds from shaving.”

“Sure, but that wasn't what we said.” Morgan stood straight and snatched the knife from midair. Aria released the spell with a sigh. “I can admit when I'm impressed. That wasn't bad.”

Aria frowned, and Noble placed a warm hand upon his arm. “Spirit of Law. I'd give it to you.”

Romy turned to Morgan and said, “I mean, rules are rules. It was a simple task. He lost.”